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GOLDEN THOUGHTS OF YOUTH 



GOLDEN THOUGHTS OF 
YOUTH BY R. R. COLES 






^"(D' 



Copyright 1915 
By R. R. coles 



DEC 22 1915 1"^ 









^ 

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2l0 

A mnn tuf infinite kinbn^BH, 

mg p^tu^ptar nnh mg fntnh, 

in aptrrwiation nf m^OBt immmBumbU 

nBBXBtnnt tlji0 little unlnm^ Ijaa Ii^i?n 

rompilrb. Jt i0 nom, in tttntn for 

nnm^rnna Judigljtfnl IfnnrB, 

Anii mitlj tb^ kiniueBt tuislj^a, 

Sjl Ijia affj^rtinnate pnpil, 
tl|je antljnr. 



CONTENTS 



PART I. 

PAGE 

SEVEN O'CLOCK 10 

THE BALL 11 

THE FOREST 12 

AUTUMN . 13 

THE RIVER 15 

AN EPITAPH 17 

TO THE LOST AT SEA 18 

UP IN A TREE 19 

PART II. 

JOAN OF ARC . . . . . , . 22 

THE SOWER ....... 30 

TO A CLOUD 31 

TO A WILDFOWL 32 

THE VALLEY OF CONTENT .... 33 

TO THE VALLEY 35 

MAY 36 

AUTUMN 37 

THE SEASONS 38 

TO A THRUSH 40 

THE MINIATURE 41 

THE PENNINSULA 47 

LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEA ... 49 

A SEA SONG 51 

THE UNKNOWN LAND 52 

CHRISTMAS SONG 54 

CHRISTMAS MORN 55 

THE POET'S DREAM 57 

7 



CONTENTS 



TO A BEE 59 

THE LAST MUSE ...... 60 

THE RHYME OF THE WISHES THREE . 63 

A REPLY 68 

THE CHARGE 69 

THE LEGEND OF THE TRILLIUM . . 71 



PART III. 








SCHOOL LIFE 80 


JANUARY SEVENTH 






81 


LINES ON A PRETTY FACE . 






. 83 


TO A YOUTHFUL POETESS . 






84 


TO H. M. W 






85 


TO A FOOL .... 






86 


TO MY LOVE 






87 


TO D. S 






88 


TO W. A. H 






89 


TO MY MOTHER .... 






90 



PART I 



There the first flights to ornate things 
When the young songster first ess^^ys his wings. 



SEVEN O'CLOCK 

THE dew has fallen on the clover, 
The wren has sung her song over and over 
The sun is just peeping over the hill ; 
All things are awake, and nothing is still. 
The lark has begun his sweet sunrise singing, 
Whie over the lake the swift swallow^s are 

winging. 
The bald eagle soars in the deep blue heaven, 

And the clock in the church tower 
Is just striking seven. 



Written at the age of seven. 
10 



THE BALL 

WHEN music fills the dancing hall, 
And merry feet and hearts move fast, 
When all gay minds attend the ball, 

And dance until the very last, 
Across the well worn floor they go 
Sometimes in pairs, sometimes in a row; 
And minutes and hours like waters flow 

Till all the midnight hour is passed. 
Then, when the dawn begins to break, 

They all depart, the dance is o'er, 
To sleep the sleep that will not wake 

For many hours and more. 



Written at the age of nine. 
11 



THE FOREST 

WHERE many a woodman's saw doth creak 
And sawmill grind around, 
Full one and twenty years from now 

No wood shall hear that sound, 
For no more forest will there be 

To shade each pond and brook. 
And in the summer's hottest sun 

There'll be no shady nook. 
Listen good people, and lend an ear 

To a cause of great account. 
Come each citizen, listen and hear; 

You cannot guess the amount 
Of precious trees that are cut away 
From our forests every day, 
From mountain side and plain and dell, 
Where the wild birds sing and the wood folk 

dwell. 
In twenty years a town shall rise 

And the chimney smoke, so thick and black, 
Will cloud once cloudless skies. 



Written at the age of twelve after hearing a 
lecture by a state for-ester on the timber ques- 
tion. 

12 



AUTUMN 

WHEN the summer's green mantle is being 
dyed 
In colors of every hue, 
And the leaves together blend such a sight 
With the sky's clear dome of blue; 

A sight like the fabled colored coat 

With purples, reds, yellows and greens, 

A mingling of colors which beautifies 
All the surrounding scenes; 

Then the flocks of wood birds silently pass 
Like the shadows of bye and bye; 

And the losing of them and the summer's touch 
May bring a tear to your eye. 

Then may you to your chamber; 

Think, and in silent prayer; 
I speak alone with your maker, 

The God that is everywhere. 

Forget all your past tribulations, 

And speak with an open heart 
And think of the good you have done this year. 

This year that will soon depart. 



13 



Wish for the good of your neighbor, 
And pray for the good of us all. 

Then rise and go out in the sunshine 
And enjoy the pleasures of fall. 



Written at the age of thirteen. 

14 



THE RIVER 

FROM the little spring on the mountain side 
I start my silver flow 
Down over the ledges and sandy beds, and round 

the rocks I go, 
Past sighing pine trees and murmuring oaks, 
Through weedy ponds where the bull frog croaks, 
Down, down to the valley where the green fields 

lie 
Beneath the dome of the clear blue sky. 

Through copases and thickets and long grass 

I wind, 
And dark, dreaming forests where I see the red 

hind. 
Past long bending willows, through fields in and 

out, 
And splash into deep pools where sleeps the 

great trout. 
Through deep sandy basins where water plants 

grow, 
And sweet little wild flowers I pass as I go. 



15 



Past houses and bridges, through long pipes and 

drains, 
Where I spoil my pure water in spite of my 

pains, 
Then out in some meadow where cattle are 

feeding ; 
Past patches of corn fields, where farmers are 

weeding, 
Then down without warning, and out in a lake, 
With water so dreamy it half seems awake. 

When I hear the gray cerlew a sound comes to 

me; 
A sound of the breakers, it is the blue sea 
Apounding and splashing, and then over all 
The little beach sand piper utters his call. 
In just one miore second I leap to the wave 
To lie on its bosom, my salty sea grave. 



Written at the age of ten years. 

16 



AN EPITAPH 

SADLY we lay thee down in thy decease, 
Into thy sepulchre of sod and dew, 
We can but wish thee never-ending peace, 
And murmur parting words, Alas! too few. 



Written at the age of fourteen. 

17 



TO THE LOST AT SEA 

THE salt waves claim thee ! 
Rest in peace ! 
Thy cares are o'er; to thee the world is gone. 

Send back thy blessing thou of sad decease 
To those who, left on earth, for thee do mourn. 



Written at the age of fourteen. 

18 



UP IN A TREE 

UP in a tree I sit on high 
And watch the summer world below 
So full of things to catch the eye, 

And things that I don't know, 
I sit to watch the white clouds fly, 
To see the swallows sweep the sky. 
But, as I sit, the wind blows by, 
Strange thoughts pass to and fro. 

I cannot always sit and see. 

Some day they say that I must go 

To take my place of destiny 
Down in that world below. 

And as I sit, the wind asks me, 

'*Oh, little child, what will you be?" 

And I must sit there silently, 
As yet, I do not know. 



Composed at the age of fourteen. 

19 



PART II 



These second flights, the bird no longer pent, 
Spreads wide his pinions in the firmament. 



21 



JOAN OF ARC 

(January 6, 1412— May 30, 1431.) 

J'T'IS now five hundred years ago 

M, That 'mid the silence of the snow, 
Fair Domremy, a town that sleeps 
Beside the Meuse, w^hich seaward creeps, 
Received into its village quaint 
An unknown birth of one, a saint, 
Who in the humblest lodging born 
Upon that silent winter's morn, 
Was by the will of God sent down 
To free France from the English crown. 

To what great heights did she arise. 
A gentle maid whose tender eyes 
Pitied the weak and the oppressed ; 
She worshipped God, and by Him blest, 
Upon the highest wall of fame 
Inscribed in living fire her name. 
In spite of time, a burning mark. 
Still shines her title, Joan of Arc. 

Humble of birth the maiden grew, 
A simple girl, both fond and true; 
Aiding her mother in every way, 



22 



The child forgot at times to play; 
And, as the years sped on, she sought 
More of her time to spend in thought. 

Those years were years of bloody war, 
For France had heard the lion roar; 
The English Bedford with his troops 
Plundered the towns in scores and groupes, 
Pillaged, and slew, and in his ire 
Wasted the countryside with fire. 
Until charred walls and open sky 
Were all that met the soldier's eye. 

In this the maiden had no part. 
But deep down in her gentle heart 
Burned ardent pity for her race, 
And oft she wept for its disgrace. 
Sitting alone one day to weep, 
She, softly sighing, fell asleep, 
And in her dream above her head 
St. Michael appeared and clearly said : 

"Rise, Joan! The task appointed thee 
Is to set France forever free. 
With all speed to the Dauphin go. 
For it has been decreed, and lo, 
Ere Lent is out, France, racked by war, 
Will have her rightful king once more. 

23 



This IS my message, rise and ride, 
And God alone will be thy guide." 

The maid awoke with beating heart, 
And dared to none her dream impart. 
For weeks she labored 'neath the strain, 
But voices called and called again. 
More saints appeared, repeating o'er 
The self-same message as before, 
Until at last her doubts gave way 
And holy purpose held its sway. 

She told her parents her intent. 
And begged their blessing and consent. 
This did they give, but, sad at heart, 
For Vancouleurs saw her depart, 
The kindly lord that ruled the town, 
A man of wealth and some renown. 
Heard her request, and by her grace, 
Her ardent words, her simple face. 
Was moved to raise a guard to bring 
The hopeful girl to see the king. 
Resting by day, the little band 
Travelled by night through hostile land. 
Until at length the danger passed. 
They reached their journey's end at last 



24 



The Dauphin thought that any aid 
Was welcome, even from a maid. 
So, dressing plainer than his court, 
He had the girl before him brought. 
From Joan he would not be concealed, 
And she at once before him kneeled. 
*'Yon is the king,'' he, pointing, cried. 
''Nay, gentle Dauphin,'^' she replied, 
''Thou art the king, and I to thee 
Have come to set thy people free. 
Believe me, lord, though false it seems, 
Ere Lent is out, thou wilt at Rheims 
Be crowned, and all of France will sing 
The hearty praise of thee as king. 
I bear no arms, no magic rod, — 
For France I bring the help of God. 
And by his never-failing means 
I come to liberate Orleans. 
No more shall France be trodden down ! 
No more her king shall lack his crown ! 
For by this banner, which I love, 
I sware my power is from above/' 

The king replied : "Now, by thy dress. 
Thou mayest be a sorceress, 
ril call my council; they w411 see 
If there be any truth in thee." 



25 



Three weary weeks the test they tried 
And every question w^hich they plied 
Joan answered in her quiet way, 
Until, at last, w^ith much delay 
The learned council did ordain 
That the young maid — perhaps — was sane. 

The king then raised five thousand men; 
Joan bravely led them forth, and w^hen 
Her troops advanced the English fled 
And she, now flushed with victory, led 
Her cheering men 'mid stirring scenes 
And marched triumphant through Orleans. 
The town went w^ild, the crowds did flock 
To kiss her hands or touch her frock; 
And modest Joan, now tired and faint, 
Was cried aloud to be a saint. 

The English, crushed by this defeat, 
Prepared to make a slow retreat. 
And Joan, elated with success. 
Steadily on their flanks did press. 
Faster and faster, day and night, 
Till their retreat became a flight. 
First Beaugency and then Jargeau, 
Fell from the clutches of the foe. 
Engagements happened every day 
And Joan, victorious at Patay, 

26 



Rallied her troops from near and far 

And drove the foe accross the Loire. 

The land rejoiced for miles around; 

The Dauphin now at Rheims was crowned; 

And Joan, the idol of the cause, 

Became the center of applause. 

Some of the nobles, proud and vain, 
Treated the maiden with disdain, • 
For every baron, duke and earl. 
Receiving orders from the girl. 
Was wroth to think that such as she 
Should hold a higher place than he. 
But to this scorn Joan paid no heed; 
The ceremony done, with speed 
She set out w4th her troops again 
To the defence of Compigene. 
Leading a sortie from the wall, 
One day her charge chanced to fall ; 
Around the enemy did swarm. 
And dragged her bruised and bleeding form 
With joyous cries and mocking thanks 
Away, a prisoner, to their ranks. 

To Rouen she was quickly brought 
In hopes a ransom might be sought, 
But not a copper penny fell 
From the fair land she loved so well. 



27 



Clothed like a slave, long did she wait 

To hear what was to be her fate. 

Chained in a filthy dungeon cell, 

Where reeking moisture oozing fell, 

Sleeping upon a pallet- hard, 

lortured and mocked at by the guard 

The patient maiden waited there 

In meditation and in prayer. 

At last the day of trial came. 

And Joan was led forth to her shame 

Before a court of England's best, 

Beauvais' proud bishop and the rest. 

Who with trick questions plagued her sore, 

As the king's council had before. 

At length, with lordly pomp and state 

The court decided on her fate. 

And Joan's young heart was smitten cold 

When they their cruel verdict told: 

''Three days thy preparations make, 

And, on the fourth, bound to the stake, 

Thou of thy witchcraft, sorceress, 

Shalt in the flames yield up redress." 

That night the doomed girl spent alone 

And all her torments left her prone, 

But in the darkness of the night the room 

Was filled with holy light; 

And the poor maiden, bent in prayer. 

Beheld an angel standing there. 

28 



The dawn was reddening in the east, 
When Joan, accompanied by a priest 
And men at arms, was led away 
To meet her death at break of day. 
The market-place was crowded deep, 
For people all had broken sleep 
To see the sight; for conscience's sake 
Would bid them all attend the stake. 
The haughty bishop sat alone. 
And round about his mighty throne, 
Standing or sitting, calm, serene, 
The nobles all took in the scene. 
The poor girl to the stake was tied, 
And high were piled the faggots dried. 
The heartless guard applied the flame; 
A gasp from all the watchers came; 
And, as the smoke hid her from sight 
The populace was seized with fright. 
They cried and prayed, and in disgrace. 
The venal bishop hid his face. 
''Upon our lives will rest a taint," 
One cried, ''for we have burned a saint !" 
In terror then the whole crowd fled ; 
The square was empty ; Joan was dead. 



29 



THE SOWER 



I 



A SIMPLE sower went forth to sow, 
Once on a summer day. 
He had his seed and he had his song, 

And he merrily sang as he strode along, 
Sowing his seed of barley corn — « 
For his heart was happy and gay. 

II 

But as the sower sowed right well 

On the balmy summer day, 
A maiden came tripping through the dell, 

And upon the sower she cast a spell ; 
And he left his seed half sown, and — well, 

'Twas all on a summer day. 

Ill 

At sunset the sower sat alone, 

At the close of that summer day. 
And his heart was heavy as a stone, 

And he thought of the seed that had not been 
sown, 
And the barley corn, which would not be 
grown. 
And the maid, who had lured him away. 

30 



TO A CLOUD 



I 



WHITHER art bound, thou fleecy cloud, 
Floating across the azure sky? 
Where dost thou go when thou hast passed 

This little hamlet by? 
Are there, then, other worlds to roam 
That thou must stray so far from home? 

H 

Tell me, thou fleecy cloud, the way 

That leads to other lands afar; 
For I would follow thee and see 

What lies beyond the bar? 
Who sends thee hither? Tell me this. 
Is it thy master Aeolus? 

Ill 

Tell me, whence art thou, fleecy cloud? 

And why so rapid on thy w^ay? 
Must serve a bondsman to the wind? 

Or is thy life of play? 
Tell me, art thou a soul set free. 
And may I some day be like thee? 



81 



TO A WILDFOWL 

I SING to thee, thou wanderer of the air, 
Beating sweet music in thy pinion's flight, 
Who droppest from the ether unaware 

On some dark pool with splashings of delight 
Only to rise again in hurried flight, 

As if vague danger lurked in hiding there, 
And, gaining, once again, the heaven's height, 

At length to some new^ solitude repair. 
E'en though, thy life is fraught with ceaseless 
fear. 
Thou hast thy freedom, and thy wings are 

strong. 
What if thy course be laborous and long? 
No tyrant force restricts thee to this sphere. 
Beyond the Trades, yea, to the frozen sea. 
Thy path is marked, thy way is w4de and free; 
And shouldst thou meet thy journey's end anon, 
Thou mayst, more free, in lasting peace pass on. 



32 



THE VALLEY OF CONTENT 

STRETCHING beyond the reach of eye, 
The hazy Berkshires rise on high, 
And woods and fields in slumber he, 
And no one stops to wonder why 
They call this land of cloud and sky 
The Valley of Content. 

Softly over the meadows go 
Sweet scented breezes, whispering low 
The tales of woods where wild flowers grow, 
And marsh lands where the lilies blow. 
For only peace and comfort know 
The Valley of Content. 

Beside the winding country road 
Is many a rustic's quaint abode. 
We meet the farmer with his load 
Of scented hay but lately mowed; 
This is the seed that nature sowed — 
This Valley of Content. 



33 



Behind the farms are wooded hills, 
Whose crests the dying sunlight gilds; 
By day these woods are soothed by rills 
And through the night by whip-poor-wills. 
This spot one's soul with rapture fills — 
This Valley of Content. 

The travellers passing on their way, 
Are tempted, for a time, to stay, 
And oft' they lengthen their delay, 
For they are loath to go away. 
This is a paradise, they say — 
This Valley of Content. 



34 



TO THE VALLEY 

THE snow clad tops of wintry hills 
Stand out against the azure sky, 
And over them the chill wind shrills 

In quickening blasts that never die. 
A mouse clad valley lies between, 

With ermine trimmed beneath dark pine. 
A starving river, thin and lean. 

Coils a gray length in serpent line. 
And here a huddled hamlet hides, 

'Neath some bold height with ages crowned, 
And from the south the rail divides. 

And skirts the steps of rising ground. 
Above the depths, a cloud sailed sea, 

Roofs over all the world below. 
And here three years I labored free; 
These hills, this hamlet, are to me, 

A mem'ried spot, whereof I know. 



35 



MAY 

MONTH of fair weather and of sunny hours, 
Brmger of spring and of the thrush's 
song, 
Herald of summer days to come ere long, 
Of drowsy fragrance and of scented flowers, 
And softest zephyrs cooled by sudden showers. 
Is there a time more fair than that which thou 
Bringest from far and givest to us now? 
The earth hath shown us all her hidden powders, 
And from her treasure chest hast gowned the 
land 
In garments woven of a magic hue, 

And sighed it off to sleep by breezes fanned. 
While far above the clouds float stately by. 
Sailing upon a sea of azure blue. 

The world hath blossomed; spring is now at 
hand. 



36 



AUTUMN 

v. 

THE golden autumn rests upon the land, 
A shade of sadness with her glory spread — 
A thought of sorrow that the leaves are dead, 
Blown down in silence at the wind's command. 
The barn-yard fowl 'neath sheltering haycocks 
stand. 
Drowsed with full crops and bounteous fodder 

fed. 
While far up through the ether overhead, 
The wild-fowl passes for the southland bound. 
And from the wooded hillside comes the sound 
Of countless crovz-flocks cawing as they pass. 
The thrifty squirrel labors to amass 
His store of nuts, while on the atmosphere 

A mist-veil floats, the smoke of many fires — 
Burnt sacrifices to the dying year. 



37 



THE SEASONS 



I 



In the tree tops sighs the breeze — 
Strains of vernal melodies; 
Field grass nodding to the knees : 
Dark cool nooks, and shady trees; 
Early wood-flowers sought by bees, 
With the brook are murmuring 
Listen — ''Youth and life and spring." 

II 

Drowsy in the silent heat 

Slumber fields of maize and wheat. 

Insects drone in clover swxet. 

In the woods is cool retreat. 

Pass the hours on sluggish feet, 

And the silent air unfanned 

Whispers — '\Summer sways the land." 

Ill 

In the stormy east-wind blowing, 
Fall the leaves, like wheat in mowing. 
Choked with gold the brook is flowing; 
Flocks of silent birds are going. 
In the fields the kine are lowing. 
Summer, stripped of bright disguise 
Weeps in silence, droops, and dies. 

38 



IV 

Dark and gray, tliey pile on high, 
Snow-clouds in the northern sky. 
Fast the first few snow flakes fly; 
Up the wind springs with a cry, 
Waving snow veils blur the eye, 
And the dawn when n€xt unfurled 
Sees a snow^-clad winter world. 



39 



TO A THRUSH 

THOU hidden organist of dim lighted aisles; 
Eternal minstrel of God's solitude; 
Wood spirit; songster of celestial mood! 
Herald the Sun's processional through miles 

Of dreamy silence. With thy song renewed, 
The feet of dusky twilight greets the smiles 
Of weary Day, and, w^hen the Moon has 
brewed 
The nectar of the Night on each blind flower, 
Thou wak'st again, and, from thy leafy bower, 
Dost herald in the harbingers of day. 
Sometimes in emerald silence hid away 
Thou sing'st again before the evening hour. 
Oh ! That thy voice wxre mine ; for with thy 
power 
A twice-crow^ned Orpheus I might out-play. 



40 



THE MINIATURE 

'HE day had been dark and dreary, while 
the rain from a cold gray heaven 
Fell in a fitful drizzle on the roofs and tlie 

housetops of Paris. 
Now, as the night dropped down, like the ghost 

of a spirit departed, 
The very life of the city seemed past and gone 

with the daylight. 
And Felix, the writer of music, alone in his 

filthy garret, 
Wished that along with the day his w^eary ex- 
istence had ended, 
For poverty, famine, and sorrow w^ere all that 

his genius had left him. 
Housed in a dingy garret, alone with the rats 

and the spiders. 
Clothed like a man of the streets, and living the 

life of a beggar, 
Felix Lamoureux, a man once famed for his 

music. 
Scarcely, from day to day, maintained his weary 

existence. 
Days had been when Felix had lived with the 

gayest in Paris, 
When in salon and ball-room the people had 

danced to his music. 

41 



And money had come and had gone like the 

breeze to the meadows of summer. 
What would he not do now for the sight of a 

meagre ten franc-piece? 
Sad and despondent he sat by the flickering 

light of his candle, 
Till at last, w^orn with hunger, he rose, and 

went out to beg for his supper. 
Slowly he turned his steps towards the distant 

lights of the river, — 
Reached his accustomed place on a bridge over- 
looking the w^ater, 
And gazed at the flood below with a heart from 

which hope had departed. 
''Only one step,'' thought he, ''and my care and 

sorrow are over.'' 
"Only one step, and the water will blot out my 

being forever. 
"And — who is there to mourn the death of 

Felix Lamoureux?" 
Suddenly he was aroused by the sound of cries 

and of foot-steps; 
And, as he turned, a figure shot by and was 

gone in the darkness, 
Flinging away as it ran a wallet that fell in the 

roadw^ay. 
Following came the police with a crowd of 

children and tradesfolk, — 

42 



Passed and were gone before Felix had time to 

withdraw from the shadow. 
Then from his hiding place slowly crept out the 

eager Felix, 
Picked up the purse from the roadway, and 

started off to his lodgings. 
Breathless he mounted the stair, and slamming 

the door of his bed-room, 
Fell on his knees, and with haste, proceeded to 

open the wallet. 
Again, the life of the salons, the music, the 

wine, the dancing 
Passed in a series of pictures, and dwelt in 

bright memories before him. 
Again he would live as before, — but alas ! the 

wallet was empty. 
Felix sank back in his chair with a cry that 

spoke only of sorrow. 
The portal of hope had opened, and closed in 

his face e're he entered. 
Again in a listless way he opened and looked at 

the wallet. 
This time, from an unseen corner, a minature 

painting on ivory. 
Fell from the upturned purse and rolled on the 

table before him. 
On the surface of this, there was painted a 

likeness that made Felix tremble; 

43 



For the features were those of a woman, whose 

face was the face of an angel, 
A face in which youth and beauty were mingled 

with love and compassion. 
A face which held him entranced ; enraptured, 

mystified, spellbound. 
A feeling of ecstacy caught him ; the dormant 

talent within him 
Woke from its years of sleep and filled all his 

fancy with music. 
Quickly seizing his pen, and setting the painting 

before him, 
He wTote as never before, such strains of vol- 
uptuous music, 
That, when the notes of his violin rose as he 

played the piece over, 
Passers below on the street stood still in wonder 

and listened. 
Felix, the beggar, v/as dead, and Felix, the 

master, survived him. 
Paris then hailed Lamoureux as the greatest of 

living musicians; 
Never before in the city was heard such wonder- 
ful music ; 
Never before had there been a master like Felix 

Lamoureux. 
And Felix, whenever he played, seemed filled 

with love and emotion, 

44 



For he played to one being alone, the unknown 

face in the picture ; 
Played, for his very soul was filled with the 

light of her beauty. 



^K * jj^ 



Paris was startled one eve, by a rumor that 

spread through the city, 
Which said that the Princess Missina, renowned 

throughout Farnce for her beauty, 
Had, in the face of the court, attempted the 

life of the Regent. 
W'itnesses by the score had svv'orn by the book 

she was guilty, 
And to a death on the gallows the court of her 

peers had condemned her. 
Felix, enrapt in his music, scarce heard of the 

doings about him. 
''Culprits must die,'' thought he; "and the world 

is better v/ithout them.. 
''Why should an honest man give ear to the tale 

of a m.urder?'' 
So tliought he as he walked that night through 

the square of the gallows. 
Where, on its rope from the gibbet a corpse 

revolved slow in the moonlight. 
Ghastly and white it hung, and as he neared it, 

he shuddered. 

45 



But a strange impulse within compelled him to 
draw near and view it. 

Slowly the body revolved, and the night wind 
moaned as he passed it. 

Then in a flood of moonlight the face was 
revealed to his vision. 

Felix fell backward in horror, for the face was 
that face on the ivory, 

The features, now rigid in death, of the beauti- 
ful Princess Missina. 



46 



THE PENNINSULA 



I 



THERE is a lonely stretch of sand 
That wanders out into the azure sea, 

er grown with beach plumb and with nodding 

grass ; 
For winds a home, for birds an avery. 
Here, when the summer breezes swept the 
coast, 
I used to sit and gaze off o'er the main. 
Then oft to me some strange sea ghost, 
Of pirate band, or Viking host, 
Would steal across my brain. 

n 

1 used to sit there when the summer day 
Fell o'er my shoulders in a crimson glow. 

And watch the cloud ships on their rosy keels 
Pass homeward bound, majesticly and slow. 

When they had passed to haven in the west 
Peeped a shy moon above the eastern bar. 

The twilight lulled the waves to rest 

And out upon the evening's breast 
Blossomed the evening star. 



47 



Ill 

I loved to watch the birth of fretful storms, 

The wilful passion of some peevish gale, 
Rebellious to their master in the cave 

And bent for mischief when outside the pale. 
Raising their banners in a far-off post, 

They muster blackness and a storm of rain, 
And sweeping in a mighty host. 
Go thundering along the coast, 

And waste their might in vain. 

IV 

I reveled in the summer days, 

Genial, and warm, the boasts of summer's 
pride. 
When all the world is happy in the sun 

And merry breezes ripple o'er the tide. 
When, in an noisome flock, the sea-terns fly, 

Seeking the shallow shoals, and tide-bare isle, 
And on the shore the wind's soft sigh. 
The droaning waves, the cerlew's cry, 

Sing but of peace around the shadowed dial. 



48 



LINES WRITTEN BY THE SEA 



IN o'er the sands comes the moaning sea- 
Wave after wave upon the shore, 
Singing its same sad song to me, 
A song of the years that are to be 
And a song of the years before. 

II 

A song of sorrow it sadly sings 

And w411 sing evermore. 
A song that to the memory brings 
Strange thoughts of long forgotten things, 

That were in years before, 

III 

The sea birds follow the falling tide, 

And scream as they wheel at play. 
And the wind strays over the waters wide, 
And the beach grass nods, if it half denied 
The words that the breakers say. 



49 



IV 

Far above the wastes on high 
To the dome that meets the sea, 

The wind is driving the cloud ships by, 

Another sea in the azure sky, 
And another song for me. 



vSigh on, thou sea upon the sand; 

For thy song is ever new. 
And though thou sing'st in every land 
No Hstening ear can understand, 

No dreamer's mind construe. 



50 



A SEA SONG 

I 

WIND in the trees, and a harbor gale, 
And the sunHght on the sea; 
The breakers roar on the outer shore 
And the dark wave follows free. 

II 

The skippers skip on the sheltered arm 
And the swell sweeps 'round the edge, 

While the sea caves groan in a hollow tone 
And the wake waves wash the sedge. 

Ill 

The sky is blue as a mussle shell 

And the foam caps roll and sigh, 
While the white sail sings with widespread 
wings 

And the waves go laughing by. 

(Chorus) 
The white sail sings 
And the port buoy rings. 

And the waves go laughing by. 
The gale is strong 
And we speed along, 

While the waves go laughing by 
The waves go laughing by. 

51 



THE UNKNOWN LAND 



THEY tell of a land of happiness, 
Hidden, no one knows where — • 
In the soundless depths of the ocean, 

Or the heights of the upper air. 
It is there that the dreamer's fancy 

Weaves in his wanton web 
Pictures of unknown pleasures, 
Pleasures that cannot ebb. 

II 

Some seek, in the land of happiness, 

A rest from this life of care; 
Others, for new enchantments, 

For riches and beauties rare; 
And a few in simple sadness 

Desire but peace of mind; 
But all, sad-eyed, are dissatisfied 

With the world they leave behind. 



52 



Ill 

To them the joys of this world are vain 

And life is hollow and dry; 
They see no good in anything, 

For they look with a glazen eye. 
So in their soft self-pity, 

They conjure in ecstasy 
A land, where from earthly burdens 

Their serf souls may be free. 

IV 

But search as they will to find it, 

Not one can know its truth. 
For the door is locked behind them 

In the long past days of youth. 
The world that they seek is lost to them 

And is gone wath the years av/ay. 
They lost the road to that blest abode; 

For they knew not how to pray. 



53 



CHRISTMAS SONG 

RISE up, sad wight, and to thy God 
The highest praises sing, 
For on the earth we hail the birth 
Of Christ, our Lord and King. 

Drive out dull sorrow from thy heart, 
Chase care from off thy brow, 

For Christmas cheer again is here, — 
Why not enjoy it now? 

Heap up the table with good store, 

Bring on the Yuletide feast. 
Raise high the cup, and fill it up, 

To man and bird and beast. 

Put off thy coat of dingy gray 

For one of merrier hue. 
Now one and all who heed the call 

We pay respects unto. 

Let free the power of thy voice, 

And let us hear again 
That message told in days of old, 

'Teace and Good-will to men!" 



54 



CHRISTMAS MORN 



AWAKE ye slumberers ! 
Loud the church bells toll 
A happy message to each happy soul; 
For from those mellow tones, that wake the 

morn, 
Comes back in frosty echoes, ''Christ is born!'' 
As if those bells in accents deep and wild 
Proclaimed the coming of the Heavenly Child. 

II 

"Arise ! Arise V* their deep notes seem to say, 
"Be merry all, for this is Christmas Day. 
Up, from your beds, robe in your best, 
For of all seasons this is merriest." 
Hark ! 'neath your window carol boys do sing 
A hearty welcome to the Heavenly King. 
Listen ! those voices raise the words again ; 
"Peace be on earth and good will be to men.'' 



55 



Ill 

Now spread the feast 

With all thy Christmas cheer, 

And over-burdened let each plate appear. 

Bring on the turkey, stript of gorgeous dress, 

The steaming pudding sweet with tenderness, 

The fatted porker spiced with cloves and thyme, 

And savory fowls with upturned feet sublime, 

And all the dainties of a Christmas feast. 

While hunger dies and good cheer is increased. 

IV 

And when 'tis o'er, and all have merry made, 
Those couples gone, that mistle-toe delayed. 
Perhaps a prayer may find a listening ear — 
A prayer for blessings given through the year; 
Then through your mind, may run that phrase 

again — 
*'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, 

peace, good will to men/' 



56 



THE POET'S DREAM 
I 

r' was- the time^ when the lilies bloom,. 
And earth was. gay and verdant with tliK 
spring,. 
When from its earth-bound cell my spirit flew,, 
And in the arms of Morpheus lightly borne 

To) Lethe'sr banks- my soaring soul took wing.. 
There did I drink and straightway all before 
Was closed and locked, an unremembered door,. 
To which there was no key, and' Clotho wove 
no; more.. 

II 
1 know not whether Eros watched my way. 
Or if the wings of fancy sped me 'right- 
But one eve, ere the day turned' intt) night,. 
She came into my life — and all was bright ;; 
'Twas even thus ; my love fell with the d'ew.. 
H had no time' for thought, I only knew.. 

HI 

Thien came' th^e summer with its hours of bliss y 
Hours sweet with music by her laughter 
made- 
Each flower, each bird, eaclr twng seemed tO) 
rejoice, 
While I, but conscious only of my joy, 
Thought that all things about me seemed' to> bo: 
Happy andi blithe in happiness with. me:. 

5!Z 



IV 

And when the autumn came, it found me still 

A happy pilgrim at Erato's shrine. 

Bound in Arachne's snare of gauzy twine, 
It seemed that I could never drink my fill 

From those sw^eet eyes and ruby lips divine; 
And though a serf unto her very will, 

The pleasures of Elysium were mine. 



Ah, cruel hand that leads me back once more 

To live an earthly life of earthly things, 
To move and have my being as before, 

And only taste the fruit that memory brings. 
Maid of my dream; some day on other wings 
I shall fly back across broad Lethe's tide 
To rest this time forever at thy side. 
Promise me, maiden, when my soul is free, 
I may return and rest in peace with thee. 



58 



TO A BEE 



HAIL to thee, small toller of the air; 
Untiring laborer of the sumlmer day; 
Passing thine hours away, 
In open meadows at thy honest toil; 
Taking thy well earned spoil from tiny flowery 

lips, 
Which, sweet and free, 
Render their hearts in sacrifice to thee. 

II 

Oft do I wonder, as I see thee pass 
If thou dost ever weary, as do I. 
Yet, hours so sweet with sunshine 

'Mid the grass. 
Must soon pass quickly by. 
I hear thee often singing to thyself. 
As towards the garden thou dost hurry past. 
Thou hast a soul of music too, sweet elf, 
Which speeds thy time so fast? 



59 



THE LAST TVTUSE 

OH ! MUSE, I wander in a wilderness 
Of alien hearts and unbelieving minds, 
Where Plutus, wed to fond enjoyment reigns — 
Usurpers both of all thy just domains — 

O'er fruitless fidds, once rich with plenty, 
^signs 
Of thy kind sway that harvested success. 

But now, alas, a broken ahar-stone 
Betrays thy shrine, while at its crumbling base 
The rank we^d sprouts and mourning all 
alone 
Thy cobwebbed palms are clasped before thy 

face. 
"^XMiere are out heafts to brook this foul dis- 
grace? 
And where those followers about thy throne? 
But thou art gone, for when beyond this air 

I watch proud Phoebus yoke his golden car, 
Not with thy sisters are thou gathered there 

To see his fire- wheels top the eastern bar. 
Thus I am left uncrowned, with fettered tongue 
To mourn thy passing, silent, and unsung. 

Alas ! mute heights, \and silent tuneless rills'! 
Where once Diana with her sylvan horde 
(Crossed sv/ift Eurotas, at fhe pebbled ford. 
And tip o'er ridge and hollow of those hills 

60 



To CjYtthm' mound, to dance upon fhe ^\\'^ra. 

Then to the tune of pipe or oaten reed, 
Swift Dryads skipped, .and round them in and 

'OUt 

ILrfhe Naiads and blithe AVood-Nymphs in t'ke 

KOUt 

Bollowed the airy lilt with happy head. 
While Fauns and Satyrs trod the measures out. 

But where, oh"! Lesbos, are thy revellers fled ? 
Where i-s the voice of pipe, the touch of strings'? 

Over thy hills, like voices of the dead. 
The waste winds sigh upon their wistful wings:: 

And down besides the wan crag on the shore 
Heaves the gray sea, and drones in each loud 
cave, 
The -song man ^knew and lost and has rro more. 

Thus, oh, my Muse, I wander -on my way 

And mourn for thee, yet striving in my tear-s 
To honor thee ; and to my honor pay, 

I seek the golden memory of those years 
\^/hen all undoomed thou held'st thy blessed 
sway. 

But now, since thou are passed 
A ponderous change has come upon the world 

.And my dumb breath that cannot utter it 



(61 



Begs but one prayer from thee; a short release 
From dumbness, that I may once touch the 
string 

And sound some worthy note to thy decease, 
Only one lay, and that too sad, I sing, 

As one who loves thee; and, perhaps, the last. 



62 



THE RHYME OF THE WISHES THREE 

I 

GLEN Vallen by the white strand lay- 
Beneath Ben Aggar hoar, 
While wild and black swept in the rack 
And burst upon the shore. 

II 

*'This night will fet* the were-wolf out," 

Quoth Albred on his way, 
*' 'Twill fet out corpses forth to walk 

And bogels forth to play." 

Ill 
With hastife'^' stride he fared ahead, 

While wilder waxed''' the storm; 
Till in a dell, he all but fell 

Upon a prostrate form. 

IV 

He raised the form from out the snow, 

And lifted up the cowl. 
The face was eild"^, and shrunk and thin, 

Like the face of som«e sea-fowl. 

V 

On through the storm he bore her on, 

'Till underneath the crag, 
He found at last, all danger past, 

The cavern of the hag. 
63 



"A witeli am, I. Hast saved my life. 

What wilt thou have?" quoth she^.. 
"Say in three wishes what thou wilt,. 

Say Qn; what may they be?" 

VED 

"It it be so,'' young Albred cried^ 

Let my first wish be cast,, 
That naught I shoot at may escape.: 

The bolt o£ my arblast/'"^^ 

viir 

"And then I wish that I may find! 

W'ithin the next months three,. 
The^ fairest maid in all the land',. 

In^ all' tliis^ broad countree.'' 

IX 

"But say thy third wish,'' cried the hag;, 
"Wilt have a kingdom's crown?" 

Quoth he "May my shaft strike the stroke- 
That brings the were-wolf down.." 

X 

"The were-wolf that doth slay the &heep> 
And children steal at night — •" 

He stood aghast, for she had past 
BJefere his very sight. 

6A 



XI 

And as days fled he hunted far, 
For miles the forest through; 

And at whatever he bent his bow, 
Always his dart sped true. 

XII 

He slew, till sated through with blood, 
No more he sought the chase. 

But lorn"^' the matins found him all, 
As springtime grew apace, 

XIII 
Her deep dark eyes were soft and fair; 

Her cheek a pallid flower; 
She combed her tyne'" hair by the brook 

'Twas nigh the evening hour. 

XIV 

''Come, be my bride — I love thee well, 

Thy name — what may it be?'' 
The maiden smiled and shook her head^ 
'T have no name, good sir,*' she said. 
*'Thou may'st have mine," said he. 

XV 
He clasped her lite"^ form in his arms 

And mounting sped away. 
And at the kirk within the town. 

Soon man and wife were they. 

65 



XVI 
**Now bless the good witch of the crag/' 

Quoth Albred merrily. 
*'My bow shoots true, and I have won 
The fairest maid beneath the sun, 

In all this broad countree/' 

XVII 

And homeward through the wood he rode 

From hunting coming back; 
And in the mire along the brook 
He saw what bade him stay to look. 

It was the were-wolf's track. 

XVIII 

O'er blackened tor, o'er moor and fen, 

Through forest isle he pressed, 
Till in a dank dell on the crag 

He stopped awhile to rest, 

XIX 

A strange sound caught his hunter's ear; 

A weird uncanny sound, 
Like the stealthy tread of padded feet. 

He stopped and looked around. 

XX 

A fiendish snarl, a lightning rush; 

The dreaded were-wolf sprang. 
The great red jaws but snapped in space 

At the sound of the bow-string's twang. 

66 



XXI 

Pierced through the heart the were-wolf fell, 

And as it breathed its last, 
Young Albred stood like a man of wood 

And leaned on his arblast. 

XXII 

Yea, like a man of wood stood he, 

In faith he could not start. 
For stained in her own sweet blood she lay, 
His bride, with her white stole rent away. 

By his arrow through her heart. 



* fet— fetch. 

* Hastife — long. 

* waxed — grew. 

* eild — old. 

* tyne — long. 

* lite — graceful. 



67 



c 



A REPLY'^ 

ALL'ST thou nation child, whom, uncar- 
essed, 
Thou starved'st of freedom for thy selfish 

need? 
A\^hat mother-love was this, that thou 
should'st feed 
This child with hatred, 'ere it left thy breast? 
And must she now^ for sacrifice be dressed, 
And on thy altar-stone her spirit bleed, 
That thou from some, mad folly may'st be 
freed ? 
Yet in her grief she sitteth sore distressed. 

'Tis not with stranger's gaze she sees thee 
closed 
About with dangers, threatened by the foe. 
For many an age, with haughty flank exposed, 
Hast thou paraded for the Teuton show. 
Now he has struck, thou smartest 'neath the 
bIow\ 
Thy Western child, with tears for both, stands 

by 

To see, with grief, whom God decrees to die. 



"^ Written in answer to William Watson's 
*Tlea to America," August, 1914. 

68 



THE CHARGE 

A PUFF, a sharp report, a sullen roar; 
A cloud of dust that marks the bursting 

shell ; 
Then deathly silence till another hell 
Belches the parched soil forth below our door. 
Across the miles they find their range too well. 
We sit. They go unchallenged, for the game is 

war. 
A bugle's blare ! To Saddle ! Yonder wood 
Screens mustering squadron from the hostile 

eye. 
Five restless companies of men and steeds, 
Nerved to the pitch, and sweating as they stand. 
Why this delay? The heat, the nervous strain 
Loosens the rider's grip, and whirls his brain 
Why must men suffer torture e're they die? 
''Charge for the guns !" At last we draw the 

rein. 
Forward the mighty column surges all as one. 
A steady tramp; then louder, as they beat 
The thunder rolls beneath their flying feet, 
A deep momentous rumble o'er the plain. 

We top the crest ; on like a wave we sweep ! 
The shrapnel bursts, as quick the range they 

find. 
The rider reels; he falls a lifeless heap; 

69 



Down in the dust the dead are left behind. 
Over they roll; the man, the horse — two lives. 
The squadrons, shattered, on the trenches 

break ; 
The hill is ours. No time to think of wives 
Or children when a nation is at stake. 

No puff, no sharp report, no sullen roar, 
No cloud of dust that marks the bursting shell. 
The blinds are empty, and, where once was hell 
The sound of battle is in ear no more, 
Those who defended lying where they fell. 
We sit; the ravens gather, for the game is war. 



70 



THE LEGEND OF THE TRILLIUM 

THERE is a blossom of the virgin spring, 
The triUium, or love flower it is called, 
That blooms in swampy hollows in the woods. 
A modest plant, it lifts a starry face 
To heaven like some praying penitent, 
Four deep red petals and a golden heart. 

There is a legend haunting this mute flower, 
A tale retold in ages long ago; 
Handed from lost lips down to other tongues. 
Till generations echoed it to ours. 

I had the story from an old, old man. 

Who dwelt aloof the winter of his years 

Upon the shifting sand-dunes by the sea. 

A sailor had he been, who saw the birth 

And viewed the cradle of this mighty state. 

In days when oaken timber shattered oak; 

And cutlass rang on cutlass, and anon, 

''Old Ironsides'' drew apart and let her sink 

Great Britain's glory, in the depthless sea. 

But now the man had fallen with the age. 

And passed with it into oblivion. 

Only the voice remained, which nature held 

Prophet of her recondite mysteries. 

And with the man the memory, too, had fled. 

71 



Vague dreams of sea fights and of thtind'rin''^ 

ships 
His mind knew naught, but only simple tales 
('The inoffensive vagaries of age). 
For when the world gave honorable discharge, 
Nature awarded second infancy, 
And oped his eyes to twice appreciate 
And claim again those finer atributes, 
Which men, in blindness, christen ''childish 

things," 

And so the dawning and the setting sun 
Of life's great day found boon companionship 
Out on a foam-necked bar when sang the gale, 
Or in the evening when the sky had cooled 
And left a steel blue sea to mock the stars, 
We sat and watched a tawny lover's moon 
Creep shyly up the pathway of the night. 
And talked of wood lore, and of Indian ways, 
And he would tell this tale and others too. 

''In a time unknown to old men, 
In a time of mist and shadows, 
Mo-no-my-neck, the great spirit, 
Ruler of the wind and sunshine, 
Of the storm-cloud and the thunder, 
Of the rain that falls in summer 
And the snow that combes in winter, 

72 



Made the world and all creation. 
First he made an endless water. 
Salty like the dew of sorrow; 
Then the mighty rocks and headlands, 
And the white and sandy shore-line; 
Breathed the life of herb upon them, 
And the beach grass and the ivy 
Straightway sprouted forth and flourished. 
Next the lakes and rivers made he, 
And the reedy marsh and fenlands, 
Made the codfish and the herring 
And the flocks of clanking wild fowl; 
Filled the forest with the red deer; 
Filled the inland lakes with fishes ; 
Made the many moons and seasons. 
Made the days of feast and fasting. 
And when all his work was finished, 
Climbed he O-sa-ah, the pine tree. 
Looked afar and near with pleasure. 
Pride, and rapture at his doing. 

Then plucked he a granite boulder 
From its socket in the meadow, 
Whispered magic words above it. 
Many magic words and symbols. 
Burst in two the granite boulder, 
And there stepped forth to the sunlight 
Gloos-kap, first of all the red men. 
Tall was he and broad of shoulder. 

73 



With a wealth of ebon tresses; 
Huge his hands, and huge his forearm, 
Like the huge trunk of an oak tree; 
Knotted like its limbs, his muscles 
Stood out on his massive shoulders, 
'*Gloos-kap, first of all the red men 
Have I made you,'' said the spirit, 
''Last of all my great creations, 
You shalt rule o'er my dominions. 
See, I give you woods to hunt in. 
Give you lakes and ponds to fish in, 
Give you fire, and give you weapons 
All are yours, if you obey me/' 
Forth went Gloos-kap, forth rejoicing; 
With his bow and with his arrows. 
Slew the red buck in the forest: 
Slew the bear, and slew the panther, 
Killed, and revelled in his killing, 
Till his lodge was filled with trophies — 
Skins of otter and of beaver. 
Horns and hides of moose and bison. 
*'But alas, what good these trophies?" 
Thought he, as he sat at evening 
In the doorway of his wigwam. 
*'None but I can ever see them, 
None but I can ever use them; 
Must I live my life in silence. 
Solitude, and desolation?" 

74 



Down from out the starry silence, 
Like a meteor from heaven, 
Fell the maiden Shan-go-ne-na, 
Daughter of the Star of Evening, 
And the night wind, Swa-na-kewis. 
And she fell beside the wigwam 
Of the solitary Gloos-kap, 
Sitting in the drowsy twilight 
At his lodge door by the river, 
Listening to the endless music 
Of the mingling flood of waters. 
Listening to the breeze of evening, 
Sighing softly in the pine tops. 

Thus sang Shan-go-ne-na, daughter 
Of the night wind, Swa-na-kewes ; 
"Gloos-kap, first of all the red men, 
Listen: I have come to help you 
From the wigwam of my mother 
In the far-off land of evening. 
Mo-no-my-neck, the great spirit, 
Down to be your squaw has sent me. 
Listen: I have come to cheer you.'' 
But the solitary Gloos-kap 
In his lodge door by the river, 
Heard her not, or, if he heard her, 
Knew her song not from the singing 
Of the ever-rushing river. 
Knew her song not from the moaning 

75 . 



Of the night wind in the pine tops. 
Then the heart of Shan-go-ne-na 
Burst within her pretty bosom, 
And, in sorrow, softly weeping, 
Crept she ofif into the silence — 
Wandered w^eeping through the forest. 
But each tear-drop from her eyelids, 
Falling on the soft pine needles, 
Sprang, at once, into a blossom, 
Crimson petaled, golden hearted. 
Thus her pathway through the forest 
'Came a winding trail of flowers. 
In the dewy sun of morning, 
Came the solitary Gloos-kap, 
Came upon the trail of blossoms, 
Plucked one flower, and breathed its odor. 
Breathed the poUon from each petal. 
Then his heavy heart within him 
Fluttered wildly in his bosom. 
In and out among the tree trunks 
Through the tamarack and balsam, 
Swifter than the swiftest red deer. 
On this flying feet he followed. 
And he cried aloud in anguish; 
''Shan-go-ne-na, Shan-go-ne-na, 
Do not fade away and perish ! 
Do not scald your lovely eyelids 
With the bitter tears of weeping! 

76 



Hear me, lovely Shan-go-ne-na !" 
And the lovely Shan-go-ne-na 
From afar off heard the calling, 
Rose with outstretched arm to meet him, 
Gave herself to his protection. 
Thus, the solitary Gloos-kap 
Found a wife and a companion; 
And the lodge beside the river 
Echoed with her rippling laughter; 
Echoed like the rippling laughter 
Of the water o'er the shallows. 
While his love for her ran deeply 
As the river through the meadows — 
Dark and deep and everlasting. 

Thus it is, that when in springtime 
Youth and maiden roam together, 
Through the woodland by the river, 
Shan-go-ne-na's tears await them. 
Grown into that lovely blossom 
Called the trillium, or love-flower. 



77 



PART III 



SONNETS AND OTHER VERSES 



79 



SCHOOL LIFE 



I 



THE golden autumn brings us back once 
more 
With willing hearts and happy thoughts to 
school ; 
To memoried spots and little nooks of yore, 
To that great edifice that we adore, 
And masters' lenient rule. 

H 

Back once again to old friends that we know, 

And faces unfamiliar to our gaze ; 
To tighten cords of friendship woven slow, 
And form new comradeships to grow 
To life in future days. 

HI 

Again, the skeins of school life do we spin, 
And see ourselves progressing through the 
year. 
While some continue, others must begin 
That uphill climb of sacrifice, to win 
A wreath of laurels here. 



80 



JANUARY SEVENTH 



I 



COME away you rascal school-boy 
From your pleasures, and your styles. 
Come away you ardent fusser 

From your wreath of maiden's smiles. 
Come away from theatre parties, 

Bid farewell to old A. M. 
Lay away your good old peace pipe 
With some crepe upon the stem. 

II 

No more nights of split-up dances. 

No more mornings at the rink. 
No more reading ^'lovie's'' glances, 

\Sept when canned in pen and ink. 
No more afternoon tea-parties 

With the new suit on for looks, 
For the cry's ''Heave ho my hearties," 

With a stiff breeze back to books. 



81 



Ill 

Now you can't sleep till the noon sun 

Almost walks right through the blind, 
And you can't lie there just dozing 

With sweet fancies in your mind. 
No you can't come down for breakfast 

Any time from eight to ten; 
Call her up, and fix for movies; 

Take a back-row seat, and then — 

IV 

Oh how swiftly flies vacation. 

Just one stream of bright delight. 
Just one great, long sweet sensation 

•All the day and all the night. 
How you danced and how you fluttered, 

How you led the hours about, 
Then the lighted candle sputtered. 

And vacation time went out. 



82 



LINES ON A PRETTY FACE 

E 



ACH day they pass, those lovely things, 
Like lucent dreams, that for a second^s 



space 
Entrance the heart with beauty and with 
grace, 
And lift the soul, a3 if on fancy's wings, 
To wonder why it so appreciates 
A pretty face. 



83 



TO A YOUTHFUL POETESS 

THOU hast a voice like some wild bird, 
sweet child, 
That sings her plaintive wood-lays from the 
heart. 
Simple and free and with a dainty art 

Hast thou the hours with golden song be- 
guiled ; 
A throat of nature singing fancy wild 

Sweet strains of happiness and love impart; 
And bring fresh fancy to the Poet's mart. 

To thrill once more those hearts yet undefiled. 
An open mirror to a world of dreams, 

Thy eyes have not betrayed a truthful hand, 
Nor has the Sun forgot to shed his beams 

To light thy path that leads from fairyland. 
Lastly, thou hast a trust in God, who deems 
Thee worthy of the task that he has planned. 



84 



TO H. M. W. 

COME, gentle Muse of golden tongue 
And crown me with thy wreath that I 
may praise, 
With due accord a friend from former days 
When she and I, and all our world was young. 
The seed was sown, and grew, and now dis- 
plays 
The gaudy flower, but dun unto my gaze, 
All to my fault, who saw not how it hung, 
And thus too late my harp, for sweeter lays. 

To much betimes with blossoms and the bee 
Hath soured the sweet and made the honey 

less 
Or, locked in silence all her sweet distress, 

A fixed Pomona hath she grown to be; 
Nor sly Vertummus may her heart confess, 
For fools and for him is the smile's caress. 

;!i H« * * * * 

Yet once, but not again, her smile for me 

Was not a fool's smile but a fool did bless. 



85 



TO A FOOL 

I 

BEHOLD the blossom, nurtured to the bud, 
Before the Spring has yet bestowed the 
May; 
Fed of caught sunbeams, and converted showers, 
Trounced into cynocure, with fine array. 

II 

The wilful toiler has the hive forsook, 

Thrice golden honey is his treasure trow^ed; 

A rain's twain bridges have no tints as this; 
No likened glory has the sun-kissed cloud. 

Ill 

What reck the comb, what reck the w^axen cell? 

Untold the hands that think naught but to fill. 
No loss is his or theirs. Why not abide 

To sip this blossom to its utmost thrill? 

IV 

Alas, fond toiler! Dost thou think that thou 
Hast found alone beyond the keener eyes 

A new, sweet morsel; to thy lips the first? 
If so. thou wouldst in wisdom's right despise. 

86 



TO MY LOVE 

O'ER, and o'er throughout the day 
Every moment on its way, 
As it passes, seems to say, 

"I love you." 

And, when night finds me abed, 
Every moment that has fled. 
Echoes back what it has said, 
*'I love you." 

So, as all the weeks have past. 
Weeks of pleasure gone too fast. 
Each has whispered like the last, 
"I love you." 

Thus, throvighout the years away, 
In my toil, and in my play, 
May each passing moment pray, 
"I love you." 



87 



TO D. S. 



I 



FATE smiled upon me when we met. 
Yours was the favor; mine the debt- 
Favor that I cannot forget, 

For it holds me the debtor still. 

This be the boon I ask of you — ■ 
A comradeship and a friendship true; 
Friendship as long as the sky is blue, 
And a trust as old as the hill. 



88 



TO W. A. H. 

DEAR friend, to you I owe the grace, 
The welcome hand, the happy face. 
That early raised us to that place 
Of friendship time cannot undo. 

Many the kindness done for me. 
Endless your hospitality. 
And I look to our comradeship to be 
With an eager heart and true. 



89 



TO MY MOTHER 



THE sun has passed the portaled arch of 
night, 
And through the closing adit of the day 
One glowing stream of alchemy shines bright, 

Then slowly turns to gray. 
The moon her crescent visage shows on high; 
The white-moth flutters in the twilight air, 
And drowsy leaves in slumber softly sigh; 
The night wind whispers prayer. 

II 

This twilight's lone seclusion that I seek 

Is but a fire-brand on a burning heart. 
I see thy eyes, that in the darkness speak; 

I feel thy warm breath on my cheek; 
The world is dark and cold and bleak 

Since thou and I did part. 
Mother, thou cans't not hear the wood-thrush 

by the stream 
Lifting his dulcet voice in sweet refrain; 
Thou cans't not see the moon-kissed water 
gleam, 

Or hear their babbling strain. 



90 



Ill 

Thou cans't not feel the night wind's passing 
breath, 

That murmurs in the ivy 'bout the porch, 
Or see yon fire-fly like a ghost of death 

Flashing his phantom torch. 
There is no pleasure in which I forget 

The sorrow that thy absence gives to me. 
I dream that thou are with me yet, 
But, for thy sake, I will not fret. 
Believe me; though my eyes are wet 

When I do think of thee. 



91 



>H17 8 9 











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